


The Way He Shows that I am His and He is Mine

by AwkwardDuckProducktions



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: :3c, And now he's dead, Angst with a Happy Ending, Biggest question: why does the Lonely need two avatars?, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Jon Needs a Hug, M/M, Magical Injury, Martin needs a hug, Peter was a creep, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, they in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 14:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19792831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardDuckProducktions/pseuds/AwkwardDuckProducktions
Summary: After Martin and crew managed to stop the Isolation Ritual, Jon and Martin both try to heal from the pain the past year gave.





	The Way He Shows that I am His and He is Mine

He awakes  
His eyes glued to the ceiling.

He awakes  
He counts his breath like clockwork.

He awakes  
He sees the time projected on the ceiling. 3:22

He awakes  
He tries to stop the whimper in his throat, tries to stop the tears in his eyes, tries to stop himself from waking up the person next to him.

He awakes  
And he fails.

And like always, the person next to him wakes. A gentle call of his name, lost and afraid. He focuses on that, his hair whipping around him as he tries to get back home. He's there in the room, but not the same world. The fog tells him that.  
"Martin?" Just focus on his voice, he reminds himself. Don't think of anything else. "I can't see you." He feels the wind pulling at his hair, demanding him to get up and walk. "Martin, I know you're still here." He thinks of the man beside him and nowhere near him. A man who has gone to the ends of the Earth for him, just as he did. Him, with his cautious smile and sunlight in his eyes. "Martin?"  
He feels how chest collapse, his body invert, his lungs explode. He feels himself crashing back onto their bed.  
"Martin!" He feels himself losing control as tears double in effort. There's hands on him, guiding him to lay against a warm chest. "I got you." His fingers still blue as he shivers. He cries as the man pulls the blankets around them. There's a hum in his chest of an old song. He stays there, wrapped in the man's arms and song until his tears subsides. Laying there shivering against him. "Do you want to go back to sleep?" The man asks.  
"You should sleep, Jon." Martin begins to feel like himself, all weak and cowardly. "You got things to do in the morning."  
"Nonsense!" He pulls him tighter in. "They can wait. I'm not going to leave you alone." Jon presses a kiss to the top of his head. "Especially not after that."

All Martin could do was nod. He understood.  
_____  
Martin woke to the smell of breakfast and a kiss on his cheek. His eyes opened only to see Jon, no lingering fog and no wind. Just Jon smiling down at him. "Good morning."  
"Good morning." He echoed back with a stretch.  
"I have breakfast ready. Do you want to eat in bed or..." His brown eyes like honeyed coffee in the sunlight.  
"I think I can make it to the couch." Martin sat up with little help. Each day, he gets a little bit better. A little bit stronger. But as he stood, he stumbled. Inky blackness closed in on his vision. A hand held his back as he let Jon guide him to the living room. It was slow going, Martin worked on picking up his feet while Jon took each step beside him.  
Once Martin was on the couch, Jon gave one more kiss to his temple before hurrying back to the kitchen. He promised to be quick. But as soon as he was out of sight, Martin felt the wind in his head steal his breath. Howling in his ears echoing his heart. Eyes closed in fear.  
"Martin?" His eyes opened to see only Jon once more. Him and the papers and books that have been blown about.  
"I'm sorry..." He couldn't bear to look at him, with worried eyes and a gentle voice.  
"Don't be. It's not your fault." Jon sat down next to him on the couch, handing him a plate. Martin held his tongue. They've already spent countless hours arguing about whose fault this was. "Eat up. You need your strength."  
"It's not like I'm going to do much besides sit here or go back to bed." He chuckled to himself, much to Jon's chagrin.  
"You're recovering." Words he has said for weeks. Each time with love and exasperation dripping in excess. "Not many would have survived what you did." He wanted to fight. Martin held his tongue once more for his sake. He often dreamt of the way Jon looked at him when he and the others stopped the world's end. As he held him in his arms, tears rolling down from his eyes as he begged him to don't leave. All thirty two years of fear to open up raining on Martin's face.  
"If you say so." He focused his attention to his breakfast.  
He almost missed Jon saying "I do."  
_____  
By midday, Martin felt tired enough to go back to bed without much guilt. Jon held his hand as he guided him back. Once he was placed among the pillows, Martin all but shooed Jon out of the room, but not without giving him a kiss on the cheek. Jon easily flustered as he seemed to forget how to speak. Martin might be the poet, but Jon was by far more of the romantic between the two. The blush spreading across his face was a sight Martin never wanted to stop witnessing.  
Martin managed to sleep for a while, much to his surprise. For as easy for the tiredness to overwhelm him, it almost never means that it would be good. His mind plagued with the memories of Lukas, whether his body broken and twisted or the year leading up. With thoughts of the world he used to visit, of a wind that calls for him. His head a shipwreck fears and memories. Any sleep he could steal was nothing short of a miracle and when he opened his eyes to see that he managed to sleep without any nightmares for four hours, Martin couldn't let the fear slide off of him with a sigh.  
His body, however, was ever slow to respond. Some days when the nightmares aren't so bad, he almost forgets he's living in one. Limbs all so far away. The blood pumped slowly through each. Not many would have survived, but Martin wondered how many would have wanted to survive. He still felt Peter's icy grasp on his heart, his hands on his neck and through his hair, his eyes on his back. A year wasted with that man. A year with his hands on his body and a year Martin didn't speak up. It had to take him with his hand around his throat, pinned to the ground, on the precipice of the Isolation, fingers digging into his chest for Martin realize he had made a horrible mistake in assuming his own capabilities. What an idiot that made him. What an awful stupid idiot-  
"Martin? I didn't realize you were up." Jon poked his head through the door. There was no point in hiding the tears streaking down Martin's face as he has come to learn in the past couple of weeks. "Oh Martin," no matter what he tried, Jon would always come by his side, taking his hand in his, "Can you listen to me for a little bit? Focus on me?" His tongue dry and heavy as he nodded. "Good good. You've been recovering much faster than any of us thought." The ache in his chest, unsure if from the cold deathlike grip of the past or the simple desire to have the man in front of him closer still, it rang throughout his body only to escape from his lips as quiet gasps. Jon managed to answer one of those issues when he guided Martin to open his arms just enough for his slim body to slip in and once more guiding his arms to wrap around him. Martin pulled him in, resting his how weary head against his chest. If Jon was speaking, Martin couldn't understand the words. The weight of his failures, of his pain, laid on his shoulders like his mother's old fur coat, thick and suffocating. But all too much a familiar feeling. All he could do was keep his head against Jon's chest and listen to the steady rhythm of his heart. And how it beats with livelihood. Envy slid to the forefront of his thoughts like an old friend. For one his heart could manage, Jon's would beat thrice without hesitation. His blood never warmed from Peter's icy grip; his heart tried but it never could do its job as it has once done. Martin would be lying if he said he didn't miss the way his heart would play its drums loudly in his ears when he saw Jon. He'd be lying if he said he didn't miss the way it skipped during a horror movie. Now it was his own funeral march, just waiting for him to fall in line and into his casket.  
"Love, do you-" Martin heard the question before it even left his lips. Heard it deep in his chest with his fluttering heart.  
"No, I just..." His hands gripped at the cotton shirt, soft and worn from the years, much to Martin's surprise. He remembered Jon slight panicked laugh as he explained his old theatre t-shirt. The giggles from memories almost forgotten as he regaled the tale of a production of Macbeth that ended up more accurate to text offstage made Martin chuckle for the first time in a year. Two weeks ago, just that simple act was enough to wear his body out. "I just want to be better." Two weeks later, he found himself unable to smile once again.  
"And you will." A kiss on his crown and Jon pulled him closer to his chest.  
But when? His voice refused to beg, when will I be free from him?  
_____  
Night came all too fast for Martin. Days progressed with daunting speeds as Martin simply remained. The world continued on its path, leaving him behind. Jon could continue on too, if he wanted to. Leave Martin behind, unburdened by the dead weight. The longer he stayed, the more Martin worried he would share his fate.  
"Let's go to the park tomorrow." That was new.  
"What?"  
"Well I just- I was thinking-" His anxious stutter came back only when he was being honest. Only when he was Jon bare of any influence. "You like going to the park and- I just- we still have the wheelchair-" And that was getting old.  
"I'm not going to use the wheelchair, Jon." He loved him truly, but this had to their most stale argument of the past two weeks.  
"I know- I understand that you feel defeated-"  
"If you understand, then why do you keep suggesting it?" His own sharp edged tone scared Martin.  
"Because you won! You get to live!" His desperation scared him too.  
"And how is that a good thing!" The words fell out faster than he could pull them back into the depths of his mind. Jon moved in slow motion, like it was his heart that refused to beat. Martin could only watch as Jon's hands and face fell and the tears well in his earthy eyes. "Jon I-" Why was it only now he became tongue tied? Why is it only now his mouth refused to speak?  
"I used to ask myself that." His lips smiled but still the tears came. "After Tim died... I..."  
"Jon, I'm-"  
"-don't apologise." Soft demand that held no power but his own. "I get it. I do." A laugh struggled in his chest. "You could say it's my job to get it." The laughter became drowning gasps. Taking a few seconds to get his breath in order, Jon continued. "But I got through it because there's no one else I would want to be the Archivist." Hands unsure of themselves twisted and picked at his sleeves. "And you needed help. Daisy needed help. Basira needed help. Melanie needed help." His grey curls shook with every choked-back sob. "But you all needed not an Archivist's help. You needed just me... just regular Jonathan Sims's help." When the brown eyes full of love met his, Martin was not strong enough to stop his own eyes from watering. "I still need your help, Martin. And you might not see the good in it right now, but let me help you. Because I think in the long run, you'll appreciate it." The silence fell like heavy snow on them that seemed to melt when Jon's hand met Martin's in the middle. With each shared breath, watery eyes found their end as their hands remained entwined. "I'm sorry for bringing up the park."  
"I'd like that." Martin, in control of his speech, of his own will, spoke with confidence he nearly forgotten. "It might do me some good." A year and two weeks ago, he might have never thought he'd ever feel this way again as the first genuine smile graced him with its presence.  
"Are you sure? We can-"  
"I'm sure, Jon." His heart loud and slow like a lumbering beast in his ears. "Like you said, we still have the wheelchair. Just don't push me into the lake." Hand in his, Jon pressed a kiss to his fingers as the familiar frightened chuckle eased back on his lips.  
"I love you." He never had to say it.  
"I love you too." But they never wanted to stop hearing it from the other. Each time, Martin swore his heart would beat a little faster.


End file.
